


Sleep with ease

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: Staniel & Jimothy [4]
Category: GTA RP, Stan the waterman - Fandom
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Accidental overdose, Angst, Brenda maybe, Deoression, Don’t copy to another site, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Hospital, I did no research for this, I know her well, Incoherency, Jimmy is a worried friend, Kiki maybe?, NOT a suicide attempt, OOC?, Oxy, So they’re all healed, Stan may be announced dead by Mark, Third Person POV, alternating pov, but could be triggering as one, but darn it if I ain’t writing fic, game mechanics, read A/N for triggers, relatively fast, shrug, sleep issues, so inaccuracies may insue, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-23 21:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: “Velvet Aurora was in between sessions with a client when he got the call.‘Is this Jimmy Bending? Hello, this is the Los Santos Hospital calling in regards to Stan Wheeler; you were the only name on his emergency contact list-‘ “——————//////——————In reference of sorts to this:  https://subtle-shenanigans-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/185094452837/dont-imagine-the-quiet-night-to-follow-in-los





	Sleep with ease

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so listen. This is going to be _heavy_. Like, really heavy. It’s going to deal with dark themes, and just in general be an angst-fest. I’ll try to end it on a happy note, but I’ve had this idea for a while, and I’m mainly writing it since Stan is sorta “dead” unless Mark ever gets time to play GTA RP again. (I get it, he’s busy, I ain’t gonna hassle him; I’m just glad he introduced us to this wonderful character and gave us a heads up.
> 
>  **WARNING** for the following:  
> Mentions of depression, anxiety, drug abuse, implied addiction, vague mentions of prostitution, accidental overdose, mentioned assumed suicide attempt (he doesn’t actually make an attempt but that’s an assumption mentioned), mean/hurtful/angry language, family problems, hospital, hospitalization, mentions of auditory hallucinations.
> 
> ****  
> _If this list contains something triggering, and/or you feel triggered while reading, please, please take care of yourself and feel free to leave._  
> 

Velvet Aurora was in between sessions with a client when he got the call.

He was ready to sharply tell them to go screw themselves, when they cut in.

“Is this Jimmy Bending? Hello, this is the Los Santos Hospital calling in regards to Stan Wheeler; you were the only name on his emergency contact list-“

His fingers tightened into a death grip around the phone. “What happened to Stan?” It was out in a rush, sharp and anxious with fear sinking its roots into him.

The secretary - wasn’t her name Brenda? - continued on in a calm voice.

“-would like you to come in and ask some questions, if that’s all right. They’ll inform you of Mr. Wheeler’s condition when you arrive.”

All he managed was, “I’ll be there.” And then he’s dressed and racing out the door, ignoring the Client’s aggravated shout.

Right now, Stan needed Jimmy more than Velvet Aurora needed to appease Alabaster’s clientel.

* * *

By time he makes it into the hospital, he realizes that Brenda isn’t as well off as her calm tone had suggested. The woman is ashen and pale with worry; there’s a few officers, including Tribble, and the other one, the nice one - Ziggy? - all wearing grave expressions as though someone had die-

“Where is he?” That’s all he asks, practically a fearful snarl. It brooks no arguments, no questions; he wants to see his best friend and he wants to see him _now_. 

“Now hold on a minute,” Ziggy starts, but Tribble puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Then, motioning at Jimmy, huffs, “this way Mister Bending.”

Jimmy follows, grumbling, “Jus’ call me Jimmy.”

Tribble doesn’t answer, and it hits Jimmy like a slap to the face; this is serious. Oh god, it’s so serious. He well knows that Tribble isn’t a fan of Stan, even if the other man isn’t fully aware of it. And yet here Tribble was, helping one of Stan’s friends and-

and Tribble has always been one who highly values respect. The fact that he isn’t griping about Jimmy’s lack of respect can only mean that Stan _really_ isn’t well off.

What the hell had happened?

They make it to the room, and it takes Jimmy a moment to process. The room is empty, which is the closest this hospital had to an ICU, and Stan-

Stan is unconscious, and pale, paler than usual; even from here Jimmy can see how much his friend is sweating. The IV attached just cements into Jimmy’s mind that this is happening, Stan isn’t okay.

“What the eff happened,” is all he manages in a horrified whisper.

“Overdose,” comes the gruff reply; he turns to see Tribble standing with his arms crossed. He can’t see his eyes behind the shades, but if he had to guess, the officer had a faraway expression. “Got the call around six this morning; one of the neighbors. Apparently Mist- _Stan_ tends to get up earlier’n hell. Wakes up most his neighbors singing in the shower - loud bastard. But no one heard anything so one of his neighbors broke in and found him.”

Jimmy’s stomach drops. “Overdose?”

Tribble turns to him sharply. “Oxy. Know anythin’ about it?”

_Can’t tell can’t expose, but Stan-_

“I. . .know he had some on him after a fight; I did too. We both got pretty hurt.”

Tribble’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t push. “Did you know if he had any issues going on? Did he seem depressed or anxious?”

Where was. . .? “Just his ex-wife, but he seemed more angry than anything. She hasn’t contacted him in months. There’s the women he gets nervous around, but I don’t think it’s anxiety. And I guess his son, Roy? He . . .he’s been talking about trying to get his life together so his son respects him.”

Tribble nods, and Jimmy’s sure that Stan has mentioned all of this to him before; Stan talked about this to anyone who’d listen. 

Tribble’s next question throws him for a loop. “Did he ever talk like he was gonna leave or didn't expect to come back? Did he ever talk about killing himself, or make any sort of indication?”

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“What?!” Jimmy sputters. “Stan? No; no no no. He was planning for the future and all that ish. Nothing mattered more to him than his son - we had plans later this week for eff’s sake! Why would-“

“Okay!” Tribble shouts. “Okay,” his voice is lower, “standard procedure son. No need to get all worked up. We’re just tryin’ to figure out what happened. And before you ask,” he cuts Jimmy off effectively, “yes, we’re sure Wheeler took it himself. The bottle was by the bedside table as was a glass of water. No signs of a struggle or anything.”

“He. . .accidentally overdosed himself. . .?”

Tribble looked away. Messed with something in his pocket. “Or somethin’ of that sort. We’re just waitin’ for him to wake up, now.”

Jimmy looked back at Stan, echoing with a sigh, “Just waiting for him to wake up.”

* * *

When Stan came to it was through a hazy dark cloud; he eventually opened his eyes, slowly, so slowly. The light flickered into focus, his vision hazy.

His eyes burned.

“Wha. . .?” He lolled his head to the side, confused. When had he. . .? Where was. . .?

“Hey, hey Stan?” That was, he blinked slowly, that was Jimmy, he realized. He still saw everything smeary, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Jim’y?” He mumbled. He felt funny.

Jimmy stiffened up - fearfully? - his vision still wasn’t clear enough to tell. He heard the tell-tale sound of muttering but couldn’t decipher it. There was. . .an officer? Right? Tan color was the police?

“Hey, Stan,” and that, that was a voice he knew but couldn’t place; the tone was all wrong, though, “Stan, just rest okay? We’ll talk to you when you feel better.”

Bett. e. .r . .?

He was out before he even finished a thought.

* * *

Throughout the day and into the night Stan woke up, incoherent and confused, only to fall back asleep again. Tribble came and went, and Ziggy came at least once to listen to Jimmy. Brenda was busy with work but came to tell him to drink and eat if he planned on staying until Stan was well, in that threatening tone of hers.

Ugh, that woman. Why Stan liked her so much was beyond him.

The few times Stan spoke while he was awake shook Jimmy to the core; eyes unfocusing but with a light in the darkness, voice with the slightest hint of inhuman depth. Jimmy was well-acquainted with Stan’s Oxy episodes to know the signs. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

Jimmy still didn’t know what happened during those episodes. If it was Stan, or something else awoken inside of him.

But he pushed these troubling thoughts aside. All that mattered was his friend.

They were currently trying to flush Stan’s system safely; Oxy was a strong drug and while they did pump his stomach, they didn’t want to induce any sort of shock by pushing the rest out of his body too fast, so they were keeping him hydrated and nourished with fluids. They figured he’d be more coherent in a day or two.

He sat in the chair so long his butt started going numb. With some hesitation, he got up and stretched. “Be back in a bit,” he murmured. 

A walk down the hall would do him some good; maybe he’ll grab a snack from the vending machine, too. This little thought gave him some energy and pushed his worried thoughts to the back of his mind.

“WHERE THE EFF IS HE?!” 

That is, until Kiki slammed into the waiting room as he passed, causing a ruckus.

“STAN?! STAN!!!”

“Kiki! Get a hold of yourself!”

“You don’t control me, Brenda!! Staniel!!!”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” it may not have been Jimmy’s smartest move, but hell if he’d let this crazy woman make his headache any worse, “Look, Stan was only admitted yesterday morning. So let’s all calm down, yeah? I’ll even take you to his room.”

In true Kiki fashion she merely growled and shoved Brenda off of herself. “Let’s go, glasses.”

He shared a look with the receptionist; and hey, who knew? Seems they did have something in common besides Stan.

Jimmy hurried after Kiki. “He’s not awake yet, at least not coherently, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Kiki scoffs. “Stupid? Me? I think you need to re-evaluate yourself, bub.”

He decides to let that one go.

When they do make it to Stan’s room, he’s still out and breathing steadily.

“So. . .what even happened?”

She’s. . .quiet. Jimmy’s never heard her be so quiet before. “Overdose, according to the doctors. Accidental overdose.”

She snorts. “Only Stan would accidentally overdose himself. Idiot.” It’s . . .surprisingly fond.

Jimmy can’t help but agree. “Yeah.”

They stay there in silence - there’s a small squabble as Jimmy sits down, and Kiki berates him for not offering her a seat, but besides this it’s fairly amicable.

Later, Kiki leaves, threatening Jimmy that if he doesn’t call her when Stan wakes up then she’ll kick his behind. There’s now a number in his phone and the steady sound of the heart monitor left to comfort him.

Eventually, he falls asleep in the chair.

* * *

Stan wakes up, still groggy but more clear-headed than ever. Head lolling, he rolls his eyes to find out what woke him up.

There’s a nurse changing an . . . IV? Was he in the hospital?

“Excuse me,” he tries to ask, but it just comes out as a groan. The nurse looks at him, noticing he’s awake. “Oh! You’re up. Let me just go get the doctor.”

The nurse whisks away after finishing the IV. He seemed nice, Stan thought.

He starts to drift when there’s quick footsteps outside the room and muted, rushed talking. Then enters his nurse, along with a doctor, and-

He blinks. “Jimmy?”

And it _is_ Jimmy: his outfit is crinkled like he’s been wearing it for days, and his hair looks out of place. What parts Stan can see of his face look tired and worn. “. . .Stan? Are you, uh,” Jimmy clears his throat, “how ya feeling?”

The doctor checks his vital and Stan’s eyes flicker to her. “Okay? I think? Why am . . .am I here?”

“Well, we’ll let Mr. Bending and Officer Tribble explain, when he gets here; for now I’m going to do a few tests, okay. Now, look at this light.” And the doctor is shining one of those bright eye checkers into his eyes, and he complies even though it _hurts_. He’s realizing a lot of things hurt right now, actually.

It’s fourty-five minutes before they wrap up all their tests and Tribble arrives; by then Stan is sitting up, albeit shakily, and blinking in innocent confusion. At one point he worried he’d been in a car accident, and that someone else had been hurt, until Jimmy reassured Stan that what had happened had only happened to him.

Stan relaxes and it doesn’t reassure Jimmy at all.

At least his voice had lost its Oxy-ridden depth.

As promised, he does text Kiki (receiving a quick retort via text that he was supposed to _call_ ). He lets Stan know that she had stopped by and may do so again. His friend’s expression contorts with pleased trepidation. 

When Tribble enters the room his expression is grim; Jimmy can practically feel any ounce of joy being sucked out of the room. Seems he was only here for business, then.

“Heya Stan, how are you feeling?” Tribble doesn’t take a seat, even when Jimmy offers, instead focusing on Stan.

“Better, thanks! They won’t let me drink as much water as I need, though.” He pouts, and Jimmy fights a snicker.

Stan’s pout drops when Tribble doesn’t do anything other than hum.

“Do you recall what happened Mister Wheeler?” The tone is professional, impersonal.

Stan blinks, trying to remember. “I-“

He frowns and furrows his brow; what _had_ he been doing? He remembers, remembers-

_he’s tired, so tired and the room is dark despite the stark glow of a television;_

_he feels dark and cold and just wants to sleep-_

“I was getting ready for bed?”

“Anythin’ else?”

He had been really, really tired.

“I- no,” he shakes his head, “sorry.”

Tribble turns to Jimmy. “Can I talk to him alone?”

Stan’s surprised when Jimmy flatly answered, “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“It’s fine, Jimmy,” he gives him a smile, though it falls when Jimmy just. . .stares. “What?”

Tribble sighs, as though all the trouble in Los Santos is on his shoulders. “Okay, okay,” he murmurs quietly. To Stan, “Do you remember this?” And he pulls a paper out of his pocket.

Stan’s stomach drops when he recognizes the scrawl of a child on the paper; no happy crayon drawings, or crooked sketches. He’d already read it twice before-

“. . .oh.”

“You remember?” 

“What’s that?” And Jimmy, sharp as ever looks to Stan, who can only hang his head low.

He flinches when Jimmy repeats again, “What?”

Stan doesn’t look up, and says wearily, “It’s a letter from Roy.”

“Your. . .your son?”

He nods miserably.

_‘So stop calling, you’re not my dad!’_

“Seems Mister Wheelers’ son sent him this letter four days ago, hours before he was admitted. Now Stan, I’m going to ask you plainly,” Tribble’s voice doesn’t waver a bit, “Did you try to kill yourself.”

Stan’s head whips up and his expression is nothing but shocked. “What?! No!” He hadn't; he really hadn’t!

“Wheeler,” Stan snaps his mouth closed; he can see Jimmy, tense next to him in the chair, “I need to know. Because it’s obvious that you took the drugs yourself. You’re in here for overdose. Now, tell me; why did you take all that Oxy?”

Stan’s fingers are white as the sheet they clench, and tears spill out of his eyes. He’s not about to lie. “I wasn’t tying to- I-“ He sighs and drops his head, voice a choked sob. “It hurt, it hurt so much. I just- I thought it would help me get a good night’s sleep and forget, that’s all. I never meant to- I just wanted-”

“Forget. . .the letter,” Jimmy asks softly.

Stan nods.

Tribble exhales slowly. “Thank you, Stan.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his face, looking heaven-wards. “We can rule out suicide attempt, hopefully. Depending on what the doctors decide to file the report as. Though, we will be sending you to a psychologist amongst. . .other things. This is still considered a form of self-harm. Okay? And hey,” Tribble bends down to puts a hand on Stan’s shoulder, “I’m sorry about your kid.”

Stan’s shaking, managing to stutter out, “He- he doesn’t want me as, as his dad.”

“Ish,” Jimmy swears quietly. 

Tribble’s face contorts; even without the glasses, he’s just as hard to read. “I know, Stan. I- I read the letter. But. . .” He looks at Jimmy, and Stan follows his gaze. “You have good friends to help you, alright?” He nods, and Tribble gives him one last pat before taking his leave. “Take care, Water man.”

In the quiet that follows, Stan is left fiddling with the edge of his blanket. He’s waiting for Jimmy to speak first. Because he has no idea how the hell to start this conversation.

“So. . .” Aaaaand here we go.

“Stan?” He looks up.

Jimmy is hunching forward, hands together and looking at his feet; he’s exhausted, Stan realizes, and it fills him with guilt.

“Look, are you, are you doing okay?”

“. . .are you?”

“Dammit Stan, this isn’t about me,” Jimmy growls out. Immediately he sits back, apologizing, “sorry, geez. I’m just . . .I’m tired. I’m really glad you’re okay though.”

“. . . I’m sorry too,” Stan whispers, “for making you worry.”

“Aw, man, no,” Jimmy whines, “don’t start with that bull crap. I mean, you’d be worried about me, right?”

“Of course!”

“Then I can worry about you; we’ve been through too much you dolt. Jus’. . . promise me somethin’.”

“Anything!” Stan blurts. He’d do anything to make it up Jimmy.

“Just. . .call someone next time, okay?” Jimmy looks over the rim of his glasses, meeting Stan’s eyes. “When you feel like crap; call me or Kiki or Brenda; hell, call Mel for all I care. Actually, scratch that, bad idea. Tribble or Ziggy would be a better idea.”

He huffs a small laugh at that. “You mean Mel hasn’t come to visit me? Well I’ll be having words with him next time I see ‘im.”

Jimmy crooks a smile. Then snaps his fingers. “Oh! Almost forgot; Kiki came by. Was ready to deck Brenda, too.”

“What?! Is she okay!”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he scoffs. “Brenda can handle her own, and Kiki was just worried. Crazy woman.” He shakes his head.

Stan’s eyes are watering and he tries to stifle a yawn.

Jimmy, in typical Jimothy fashion, rolls his eyes (and Stan doesn’t need to see through the sunglasses to know.) “Get some sleep, Stan.”

“Bu-“

“No; look, I’ll be here, okay? Just. . . rest easy.”

He hums, sleep already fuzzing the edge of his vision as it creeps in. “Rest easy, . .huh? Sounds. .,” this time he yawns fully, “.tha’ sounds . .ni. .c. .e. . .”

He’s drifting off before he knows it.


End file.
